(third person)

It's raining outside. The raindrops are heavy and fat; when she was driving home, she thought for a second it might almost be snowing. Now she sits in her car, the engine running and the air conditioner on. The car is in park. She's only thirty feet from her apartment, but she doesn't feel like actually getting out of the car and going inside. It's been raining steadily for almost forty minutes, and she'll be leaving soon anyway. No use going inside to check her email when she can just do it from the car. It's a little uncomfortable to hold the computer on her lap and type; the steering wheel is too close for her to be able to extend her arms fully. It's funny-- she notices that the woman who pulled into the slot next to her is still in her car too, chatting on the phone and flipping casually through a fashion magazine. The girl smiles wryly to herself, and pauses for a moment to try to smell the rain. She can't smell it. All she can smell is the cold of the air conditioning and the remnants of this morning's coffee, now dried in the bottom of her mug. Her roommate just came down the stairs from the apartment and climbed into a sleek silver sports car--her boyfriend's. The girl wonders if the roommate even saw that the lights are on, that the car is running, and that she's sitting in the car, typing on a white laptop. The woman in the SUV puts away her magazine and goes inside. It's sprinkling now. The girl's ride should be showing up soon. The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is playing on the stereo, the lead singer saying again and again, "When did you stop caring?" She wonders.